


the things you said that i wish you hadn't

by orphan_account



Series: drabbles [21]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, half-Galra Keith, more Fluff than Angst actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 02:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19938469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lance walks past the bathroom on his way back to his room and hears a muffled curse. He pauses, turns around and stares at the door and wonders why the hell checking the bathroom didn’t occur to his stupid mind. He walks in slowly and sees the familiar red and white jacket.





	the things you said that i wish you hadn't

**Author's Note:**

> i love boyfriends comforting each other :')

Lance checks the training deck. Empty.

The kitchen. The lounge. The observatory.

Empty. Empty. Empty. 

He checks Keith’s room again and, as expected, finds it empty. 

Worry tugs at the back of his mind. Keith hadn’t been injured after the mission today, Lance had checked up on him and even had applied balm on a nasty, purple bruise on his arm. After that though, now that he thinks about it, Keith has been—absent. He avoided staying around the team unless it was necessary and always excused himself and left whenever Lance tried to talk to him. Lance thought he had one of those days when he wanted to be by himself, but…

“Ugh,” he grunts and walks out of Keith’s room, wondering where the hell that boy could’ve gone; Lance should’ve been forcing facemasks on his stupid face an hour ago. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns to leave. Fine, whatever, he’ll just have to wait in his room.

Lance walks past the bathroom on his way back to his room and hears a muffled curse. He pauses, turns around and stares at the door and wonders why the hell checking the bathroom didn’t occur to his stupid mind. He walks in slowly and sees the familiar red and white jacket.

“Keith?” Lance says, carefully and quietly. Keith flinches, his shoulders hunch up to his ears and freeze there, oddly, with fear.

When Keith says nothing, Lance takes a tentative step closer to him. “Hey, you alright there, buddy?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith says, in a voice that’s definitely the opposite of a  _ yeah _ . “Just, go to your room, Lance, I’ll be right back.”

Lance stops and considers his words, then he frowns and thinks that, maybe, he has given Keith enough privacy for today and he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong by making sure he’s okay. 

Keith hears him walking again, and Lance thinks the curve of Keith’s back is a helpless attempt to hide in his own flesh. 

“Keith, tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently. Lance stops only a step behind him, avoiding to touch him or force him to turn around until Keith is ready for it. His mind is flooded with hundreds of thoughts about what could have gotten Keith to hide in the bathroom—hide from  _ him _ —this late at night.

After a beat or two, Keith speaks again, such a low, subdued whisper that Lance struggles to catch his words: “I’m—I—have something on my skin and. And I don’t think you should see it.”

“On your skin?” Lance repeats. Did he miss an injury earlier? “Are you injured? Keith, does it hurt?” His hands raise up in the air, hesitating to touch Keith’s shoulders. 

Keith shakes his head, and when he sniffs, Lance decides to lay a gentle hand on his back. 

“Hey, you can tell me what’s wrong,” he whispers. “It’s clearly bothering you and, and I want to help, okay?”

Lance counts, one, two, three… at eleven Keith shifts and slowly, resentfully turns around and faces him. 

Lance roams his eyes over his face, searches for a cut or a bruise or blood. All he sees is dots of purple, from Keith’s neck and up to his ears.

Keith’s eyes are wet, and behind the tears, there’s an angry flame burning him from the inside. 

“Okay...” Lance says.

“This is bad.” Keith averts his eyes and looks down; Lance sees something sparkle in the air and he follows the teardrop until it meets the floor. 

“No, no no, it’s not. It’s not  _ bad _ , we’ll work this out,” Lance says quickly, as cheerfully as he can. He plants both of his hands on each of Keith’s shoulders and ducks his face to try and meet Keith’s eyes.

Keith scoffs. “We can’t work out genetics, Lance,” he says bitterly, it makes Lance’s heart ache in ten different ways. He searches Keith’s face, and with the way Keith continuously keeps pulling the sleeves of his jacket over his hands, probably to hide the marks there as well, Lance is filled with an overwhelming urge to wrap him up in a blanket and hug him until the loathing in his eyes disappears. 

“Keith, look at me,” Lance says. Then, since Keith stubbornly keeps his eyes locked on his own fidgeting hands, he adds: “Look at me. Please.”

Keith does; his eyes are rimmed red, and his cheeks are flushed from crying. Lance eyes the purple on his jaw, it runs down on the sides of his neck, and, probably, on the back of it as well.

“I’m most likely gonna be all purple soon,” he speaks. “And my eyes will be yellow and ugly.” Keith swallows and breathes in once heavily like it’s iron around them instead of air. “I’m probably gonna be like the Galra soon.”

“Hey, no.” Lance shakes his head. “No, you’ll be fine, it’s probably temporary, like, like—puberty for half-bloods or something. Coran can fix this, I’m sure of it.”

“I can’t face Coran like this. Or Allura,” Keith says. “God, especially Allura, she already hates me for being a Galra and—and now  _ this?!” _

Lance’s chest gets tighter and tighter and he’s fighting back the burning in his eyes.

“She doesn’t hate you! And you’re not Galra, Keith, okay? You’re you and—“

“I have fucking fangs growing in my mouth,” Keith cuts him short, a glare on his face that, Lance thinks, is more directed to himself than anyone else. Keith steps back and hugs himself. “I’m— _ fuck _ , I’m gonna mess everything up and ruin everything we worked so hard to build and no one's gonna join our coalition anymore—“

“Keith—“

“—because who wants to help out a—a monster who destroyed their home and ruined their lives and—“

“Listen to me—”

“—and I’m going to hurt everyone—I’m going to hurt  _ you _ and I can’t live with that, Lance, I can’t live knowing I’ve caused you pain and I’ve—” 

“Keith!” Lance slaps both of his hands on Keith’s cheeks and cups his face. His heart drops at Keith’s words, his brows furrow with a weird combination of protest and protection.

“Have I ever lied to you?” Lance asks. 

“What?” Keith says and sniffles.

“Have I. Ever lied. To you.”

“Yes, just yesterday you said Coran’s pancake thingies tasted great and I nearly vomited.”

Lance rolls his eyes, but he’s pleased to see Keith’s goofy side again, even the smallest part of it.

“You know what I mean,” Lance says. 

Keith flicks his eyes between Lance’s.

“No,” says Keith.

“So believe me when I say that you—“ Lance removes a hand from his face and pokes a finger at Keith’s chest. “—are being dumb. Even dumber than usually. You’re acting like—like the king of all dumb people!”

“I get it, thanks.”

“No, you don’t get it if you’re saying such awful things,” Lance argues. “Keith, you’ve saved countless lives, countless planets and children and—and us, you saved  _ me _ so many times. In more ways than one.” Lance gently grabs one of Keith’s droopy hands and cradles it against his chest, right above his beating heart.

Keith turns his face in Lance’s hand, nuzzling his nose and mouth against his palm. Lance feels the wetness of his cheek and starts to brush his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress over Keith’s cheek.

“What if I won’t be able to control it?” Keith whispers. “Won’t even realize that I’m. That I’m doing something horrible?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Lance reassures. It pains him, to watch Keith doubt himself, to watch him furrow his brows and close his eyes with almost colossal fear of himself. Lance leans forward and tips his forehead with Keith’s.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you, and you’re not someone who would hurt me or anyone,” Lance says, his voice certain, his words sure.

Keith sniffs again. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Lance grips Keith’s hand against his chest tighter. He kisses the wet line of tears under his eyelid.

When Lance walks Keith back into his room, he gently sats him on the bed, kisses his nose once, twice, puts his hair up and away from his face with a headband. He applies the silver facemask on Keith’s face with careful fingers, the one that smells the closest to citrus, knowing it’s secretly Keith’s favorite from Lance’s collection. He speaks to him gently about everything and nothing, he kisses the purple on his skin with burning lips and tender breaths.

And he kisses them and kisses them and kisses them, until Keith giggles breathily and smiles cheekily. Lance kisses that too, the twinkling laugh lines on his cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://yourfriendlyneighborsam.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/frendlysam) or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/friendlyneighborsam/) (i post tiny drabbles on ig)


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